Mind-set of fractured
faith, falters.
Now you want to ignore the god.

The bald cypress
hides the buttress roots.
Eagle was flying very low.

The clouds speak
in favor of sky. You cannot
heal the sun's wounds.

Flames are mine.
You burn the poppies to
float the arrogance.

Half burnt-out letters
of a lover, make a glory
of withdrawal of summer.

Seething with agony.
Unsinned―
the creatures were asking for
human rights.

Tracing the spiritual odyssey.
You have landed in a
volcano pit, looking for
the first autumn.

Smudgeless you walk in a
coal mine. It plunks. There
were spots in the sun. Bragging
was coming to the fore.

I am closing the book, not
to read again the drooling
script. Ages were harvesting
the tunnels.

Consensual chemistry―
you were entwined with
a dervish.

Banana grove. A breather
for upside downs. Moons falling
from the sky.

A body sails.

You start wooing, clean
and genteel autumn―
for undisputed courtesy.

The fear of bliss. You
have a death wish. Empty chair.
You will not come back.

I think this is poetry.

When you were you,
me picked up the words-
you did't say.
You stir up a verse,

incendiary enough-
to start the chakras of sorrow.

Why to believe in
reincarnation, when carnations
in your eyes won't die.

A bloodbath for
believing in nothingness-
of innocence in the folds of time.

The seeds were in mode
of dispersal, of hate
and insults.The crowds were thinning.

A strange thing was going to happen.
Dark sky would descend
randomly to capture the speed.

Walk with me, till moon rises
on the griefs of the dark,
and the tongue tastes the pain of centuries.

On the erected dome
when the golden leaves start a flame
which throws up an image of a prophet.

My nightingale was giving a call
of a very sad tune, on the death of peacocks -
but for the poisoned feed, they were dancing.

A green pride has no ambition now,
roses were wilting.
Fever was rising in the roots.

Do not give it to me, my award.
Could I have shut up like a fame
when my house was being ransacked?

It should not have happened.
But it has. For a god
of dreams, there was
no paradise.

You had become an alien
to your body. Split scenarios.
A fight going on―
between two selves.

Every morn, a shock comes,
a revelation pops up. You
fall, a victim of civil war―
in surprise.

The headlights on, you
were driving straight into
the bright sun to burn
your wings.

A long night―
unending was,
the wait for the sickle moon.

Midnight,
shooting stars―
you are still breathing?

Doleful cry―
of the crickets. Why
the rain has stopped?

I was talking―
to the clouds
for a favor.

For a lake feel
to find the four-leaf clover
grazing your absence.

But the road does not run.
And I cannot reach
the wicked rapture.

Where the gray sky
meets the water's shadow
every wave weeps for the moon.

Like a dragonfly skimming
the import, floats on the
dampened page of life.

You will not be able to sleep
in this full moon.
The pilgrim hawk was flying
very low.

When I asked you to
drop the millstone―
a bunch of dreams,
you wanted to move away from sun.

Building melatonin,
after visiting the shrine―
in dark. The deity has
started taking a both.

Helium― the noble gas.
How high will it take you,
in a balloon, which was rising
towards the Mars?

Crashed. I break into
pieces of terra cotta. I don't
want to leave the earth. Spread
my ashes on the beach.

You were comfortable,
when you abused in native speech.
After the conviction,
there was smoke and ash.

Bring down the white plumes
from the volcano's crater,
and begin the swan song
for the sake of vanishing grace.

It is my turn now to
walk in penumbra, wrapping
off the dark core of human mind
and give a prelude to matephors.

Below the wings, the
trapped wind lifts the fallacy
of a fall when you were
already buried in a shadowless flesh.

The candle burns
your thumb.Night will
not contain the light.

How you will write
the beginning of a tragic tale,
when you don't know the end?

Your voice was buried
in the soundscape of howling winds.
No star was ready to lift the veil.
The shadows of unseen are legthening.
I cross your boundaries
to know my destiny.

The woods are smouldering
without sparks..My fingers are
singed and feet blackened.The unknown path
will receive your footprints
and you would start seeing
in the rage of night.

Another―
frozen relationship
between man and beast,
you want to thaw.

The god,
had become uglier
after throwing you―
in pit. Disbelief debates―

why to find the logic?
I wanted to become a period―
after commas and parentheses.
Who was great?

Nobody comes forward―
when you are beheaded amidst
the crowd, which goes into the
applause of life time.

In search of―
lotus flower,
you go in water.

*

The frog croaks,
sitting on
bowl-leaf.

*

A lily with
dark pink flowers
for Buddha.

*

For a lotus―
eater, nothing else
was important.

Autumn sets
deeper, after equinox. The
homesick moon comes close.

*

Was there any hope
beyond the darkness?
My hands are very *****.

*
What was the maniac
pain of the sea?
No boat wants to sink.

*

Soundless was your
enemy in bush.
Why were you lamenting?

Playing a foghorn
for self-esteem,
is an ego trip.

The white tiger
mauls a cow,
beyond the audio.

You are shrinking―
now at the hands of
unqualified arms.

No need of any
funeral finale. The bones
are as white as the moon.

Let there be dark
in your life.
One day, you will
be able to see the light.

Wind would sleep in the
earthen lamp during day.
Come evening―
tears will light the wick.

Hordes of moth have
resumed their sorties. Any
cruise of moon was
impossible.

Not acceptable was hiring the womb
for manipulating the race. An
eagle dance, brings out the
savagery of man.

Night begins
the self-discovery
with green and cream pills.

A binary existence
you would love to
break the myth.

The wind in the sails,
you are going―
nowhere in darkness.

All colors of―
midnight moon,
were for you.

Time will meet―
you in different masks,
to find the truth.

Begins to reel,
the dusk,
down the street.

The grey moon waits,
solemnly, for the
music of earth to start.

There is enigma―
in dark. You see
the inside of a shut house.

Like the stone
eyes reading the heliograph
of shrunken gods.

Plunged into a gorge
your eyes, to find
the secret of a fall.

The clouds hang on the strings.
I cannot dry my eyes.

Picking up the pine cones, on grass―
one by one, as the years went by.

How did I lose my home again?
Were there not footprints in snow?

The caladiums, you planted in
summer, had the crimsoned spots.

Like the kirmizi sun
dipping in lake one night.

Intercepting the random
poems, pick not
the holy water, in your palm.
I cannot lift the words.

Dark bellies, in moon's
autumn, will play with flutes.
You will swoon on the
sight of blood at the hands.

It was not the first time, a
lamb in the midair―
falls on the golden spear of
new theme, to bluff the naiveness.

Somebody takes a turn, to
find the bell, which will not send
any sound, on the death of
the poppies.

How will you be defining
a war, when you
meet without machetes?

Between real and fiction
lies a deficient bridge.
We will go for a walk to find―
the weak spots.

A dead city moves in its
entirety. You prepare yourself
to read the tea leaves.

The dregs were in power.
Why you were becoming schizophrenic?
Do not blow at the dead sparks.

How long the shadow now
you want to throw?

Intercepting the random
poems, pick not
the holy water, in your palm.
I cannot lift the words.

Dark bellies, in moon's
autumn, will play with flutes.
You will swoon on the
sight of blood at the hands.

It was not the first time, a
lamb in the midair―
falls on the golden spear of
new theme, to bluff the naiveness.

Somebody takes a turn, to
find the bell, which will not send
any sound, on the death of
the poppies.

A textual study
of pain and bliss.
I was coming for a reprisal
from a temporal crisis
of intimacy.

Always gnawing at me,
the roll down from
love to hate. Which was
impersonating what, like
a talking parrot?

Soft ******. You will
half-die, poker-faced in
grey night under the full moon,
holding a poem
written for a black sun.

I shall never get
over my dilemma.

Whoso stills the
thunder, it was difficult
for you to lift yourself.

A failed past was―
asking for a date
with destiny.

What your gut bacteria
would say, when
it is raining hot kisses?

I extricate myself
from the shelled house
of pride against the risk.

Should I prepare myself
for the worst? Midnight
syndrome will attract the moths?

Butchers were in panic.
The bulls are coming.

Dandelions were
in strike mode.
The Ebola dream
was competing.

Nobody there
sleeps in open.
The stink of dying
poems overwhelms.

Please make a
self-potrait like
Rembrandt ****
without a mirror.

There was no
night watch.

He used to dream
of date palms, covering
the defended wounds.

The scoli crab after
the fall will stay. It will
not change the referendum.

The neuter will not
form the trinity. I will
not hear the signals.

Night was not yet
dark to explore the moon.
My stars remain faded.

O country, the people
O planets, the goddess
of **** is dead.

Red horizon―
had bite-marks
of setting sun.

On the table,
I will place all my oblique wares
for a change.

You embrace the strange
things, horns and all. The
dissection was accurate.

A multiplex opens the
gates for all the
lipless gods.

The maddening silence
of the priest was
deafening.

I will not come near the skulls.

Darkness always weighs heavy.
And light was weightless.
You were visible to me.

I was not sure, which
god went numerical.
I was carrying my scars.

It offers no solace
if I become you, and
start hunting the filters.

Let the moon rise in―
its imperial robe, in
praise of setting sun.

Under the pear tree
a **** survivor
wavers.

Elsewhere a moon
was sailing in
ghostwalk.

Unsteady in human
chain, you wanted
to know, what―

was the logic
behind the savage
metaphysics?

A curse becomes
a daily bread of the
tongueless victim.

How far do I go
to unearth the myths
of nodding religion?

The prediction goes awry.
I wipe away an exotic
smudge on the paper.

I was trying to fight
venom of adverbs and
adjectives.

I want to retrieve my
poem, as it was― before
the digital onslaught of beheadings.

Give me my garden room,
baby moon and spotless
needles. My blood was blind.

I would come again in
my burial mode, when
your trenches are ready.

Strange, in silence, I lose
my way, my thoughts.
I will speak.

The long roots were
stronger,
than the myriad leaves.

A shadaw left
you in mid sun. No
one will follow you now.

The tree at last
enters your―
home in deep revenge.

It haunts.
You still want to see the―
beheading, piecemeal
in borderless pain.
The war had defrauded my life.

An unsoiled moon
was taking depressed steps tonight.
Faith healing had stopped.

Floaters swim again in view.

A forbidden place.
You do not want to visit the
Blood-soaked turf.

Darkness enters
the poem.

The swamp was in
boil. It was raining
again on the open wounds.

The scissors will
play a ***** game. You
divide the river
in right and left.

Enough was the greed
when you follow the bun.
After the surgery, no blood
was left.

I will go.
You would sing in praise
of coolness of water.
It refuses to move.

Escaped the blast, the
sparks. You can sail
in bottomless boat.

An earthen lamp
in loneliness
calls off the day.

After giving you
the golden light,
in its death.

Was it a pure sin,
if I touch
you in pitch dark?

Where the time
sleeps, I will meet
you under no moon.

Teaching self the,
art of dying
after a serial failure.

Stone pelting has started.
You cannot hear your own voice.

Praying for the inaccuracy of time's arrow.

A physical dimension,
you will give to your impermanence.

And silent flows the glacier out of banks.

Clear fall, seems inevitable.
The sun rises from the debris of moon,
from drop on drop of watery eyes.

What would you say―
if I shed my identity,
before the water enters the boat?

A cold-blooded,
culpable homicide, of the genius,
whom you gave your house
of cards.

Amidst the pathless windows
leading to no night
no dawn.

The ice bucket dramatics.
What message you want
to send, to thirsty small birds.

The fishermen sleep
beyond the echoes. No stones
were going to scream.

Selene, the goddess of
the moon, promises―
not to fall in love.

Putting on hold―
the shrine, the statue,
going for sale.

No epilogue was
needed, at the end
of play; it starts again.

The painter was dead,
before completing the art
of defying the end.

Walking in ruins
for love of poetry, you
wanted the feel of the beginning.

You wanted to be covered
with dahlias, unmeasuring―
the depth of tears.


How do I go finding
an elegy―
in dim moonlight?

En route I will pluck
the stars, in September.

And when the river goes in spate
and you are submerged,
I will spread a blanket of poetry.

Who wants the eternity
of soul. My love was very frail.

The fractured core,
a broken faith, there was
no life after death.

The colossus was drowned
in white, stunning
the men in black.

You cannot encircle
the sun-spots with
bare dogmas.

The tear's salt is found
scrapped on lips, will not
find a place to sink.

How deep you will go
in the tattoos? The sun
wanted to check in the dementia.

And my love, when do we talk
of wilderness
and daisy blooms?

The snakeskin―
twirls, and I watch the
wriggling night moving away.

I swallow the
empty words. They are not
heavy and no concoction.

The body and desires.
I have let then slip away,
my dreams, my knocks.

Against the dying of
blueberries in your eyes,
I will not wash the stains.

The curve of umbilicus
still remembers the dazzling
fall.

Centrality suffers.
A poem
cries.

The kingfisher
dives
to find the depth of water.

Ready to strike
beyond― the
horizon, black hole.

With September
blues on―
my hands, I pray.

Do not measure zany,
yourself. When did you become
your pedagogue?

Around the city I am
planting the roses―
against the wishes of land mines.

Haunted by a survivalism,
somewhere the smoke
was rising. But I wanted―

to leave the fragrance
for you― and you will not
wait for the ghosts to tell,

who was the visitor. You
will not know my future and
I will not know your past.

After finding the pulse,
you become a man-eater.
Decide to play a volcano―
to solve the mystery
of god.

Shirtless violence,
sells the skin, the vagus
and the cranium.

There was no difference
between black and white. I
had fallen for the crooked―
smile of death.

You appear like a
nymph in my stasis―
of thoughts. I kiss
my hands.

You penetrate in my bones.
O God, you were exactly my image.

Moon stained a poem beseeches
me, to lift my pen.

The interstellar
reticence, becomes the
muse of a storm.

*

Departure begins,
when the lights are dimmed.
Night licks the moon.

*

Now, you can
roll up the stings.
Cadaver will not rise.

*

The bell rings―
for the last exhibit.
Moths were waiting.

When the time faults, it
becomes metaphysical for me―
to write a poem in flesh and blood.

A night's terror, descends.
Buzz of an insect hovers,
until I give in.

A thoughtess invasion―
makes you unstable, when
you reach the heights, where
snow wails, time and space
start collapsing.

A vacuum bubble expands
into a dome. You draw frescoes
in dream. The colors penetrate.
Blind landings begin.

Looks as if you were sitting with dead,
till eternity.

This age of depression―
Do you hear―
the unheard sounds?

I always bleed―
in the books. Some words
won't stay for the sake of propriety.

Nothing is held back,
not even modesty. The biggest
savagery, of being a human.

And a flock of ravens will
go on hungry,
not feeding on debased carrion.

The baby moon will
not smile. History has
cheated us out of the truth.

The heat, noises and
dust. Every face was covered
in soot. I cannot recognize myself.

Unstitch my memories,
I have come home,

My bag was full of worries.
How will I spread my age?

An old man reading the palms―
cannot find the glasses.

After a mutiny, nothing was
left of a hissing pyramid.

Tell me the shape of tomorrow
to come. In dark I have
to bury my name.

The collective
scream of peacocks,
brings the night horror.

The horses run―
in morning blue.
The call has come.

Cotton wool on―
retina. I cannot read
your command.

To immerse
my god in your lake,
the wait must be long.

It was time to
modify the heritage―
in a delicate bid to
aid the dying.

A wrenching decision was―
to ask for an apology
from a living god.

I will crack, but
not come to you, to
invoke the grace of mercy.

The twilight sits at
my door to seek the nemesis.
Why did I swallow the moon
without asking the sky's womb?

Cocooned. Afraid
to show the scarred skin.
Your words bloom in dark,
like a cereus. I collect the fame
to light the candle in wind.

Can you contain it;
the call,
one animal?

*

A baby hurt,
sometimes―
you enjoy.

*

The full moon was―
as poor as,
a church mouse.


*

Sitting in court
watching a
finch play with water.